poo

oh yes i have hurt
leftover from other lives
hurt hurdling into me
from nectar of sweet disease
oh mother empty your cup
oh father dance with me

short of living i am not
life; i have shortness
of breath in hearing
my own breath in listening
to its fathomed
stillness.

and in nothing i am
not more than nothing, but
not less either. and in everything
there is no such heinous word:
it is the ugliest word
that everything
that one thing
could be more than one
thing.

what glimpses the future
eyes that have no eyes
ugliness that can only begin
and tantalizing verses
singing and depleting you
until you are yes full again.